


Steve Rogers and the Guardians of the Tomb

by Politzania



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Archaeology, Character Assumed Dead, M/M, Minor Character Death, unintentional necromancy, vaguely inspired by The Mummy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-01-25 11:09:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21355297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/pseuds/Politzania
Summary: Captain Steven Rogers never intended to come back to this part of the world, but the money was just too good. If only he’d known just what kind of trouble the boss’s son was likely to get into as part of this archaeological dig.Happy Steve Bingo: G5 - Museum, Tony Stark Flash Bingo 004 Full Moon
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 28
Kudos: 96
Collections: Happy Steve Bingo 2019, Tony Stark Flash Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to @ameliacrowley for suggesting the HSB/Fictober prompt combo!!  
In the tradition of the movie serials of the 1930′s and 1940′s, the remaining two chapters will post over the next two Fridays - stay tuned! 
> 
> Title: Steve Rogers and the Guardians of the Tomb  
Content Creator(s): PoliZ/Politzania  
Happy Steve Bingo Square Filled: G5 - Museum  
Tony Stark Flash Bingo: 004 - Full Moon  
Fictober Prompt #18 - “Secrets? I love secrets.”  
Rating: Teen  
Pairing(s): Steve/Tony  
Warning(s)/Trigger(s): minor character death; assumed character death; necromancy  
Summary: Captain Steven Rogers never intended to come back to this part of the world, but the money was just too good. If only he’d known just what kind of trouble the boss’s son was likely to get into as part of this archaeological dig.

Steve Rogers was not a superstitious man. If he were, he never would have come back to the part of the world where while for his country, he lost his best friend. But the money Howard Stark had waved under his nose was too much to resist; so here he was, back under the unforgiving sun of the desert as guide, guard and assistant translator on an archaeological expedition, of all things. 

Despite his skeptical nature, Steve couldn’t help but wonder at all the mishaps that had befallen Stark’s enterprise over the past three months. No one had gotten badly hurt or killed -- not yet -- and the millionaire could afford to replace the broken equipment and missing supplies, as well as hire more local help to clear the multiple rockfalls. That said, it was only a matter of time before something serious happened. They’d already had almost a third of their local laborers revolt, claiming the site was cursed and refuse to work no matter how much cash was offered them.

Considering everything, Steve couldn’t blame Stark for deciding to cut his losses and go home. The fact that his partner, Obadiah Stane, had found an eager buyer for their discoveries -- that didn’t sit nearly as well with Steve. This was supposed to be a joint effort with the local government to locate and preserve artifacts, not take them overseas to join a rich man’s collection. 

The moment Steve left the tent where he’d been informed of the change in plans, he was accosted by the other reason he’d agreed to join the expedition: Tony Stark. The last thing Steve had expected was to fall in love with the boss’ son, but Tony’s bright-eyed enthusiasm and his sharp wit had drawn Steve in like a moth to a flame. There was something about the young man — nearly a decade Steve’s junior — that reminded him of Bucky in ways that were both painful and comforting. 

“Why the long face, Rogers?” 

“I’m not supposed to say.” Stark would be making an announcement tomorrow morning; Steve didn’t want to steal his thunder. 

“Secrets, hm? I love secrets!” 

“You’re not going to be too thrilled with this one, champ.” 

“C’mon, please?” Tony looked up at Steve and actually batted his eyes. It was all in fun, of course. Tony flirted with anyone and everyone -- it was just part of his personality. Steve knew better than to take it seriously, but his heart skipped a beat anyways. 

“We’re packing everything up from the site and shipping it back to New York, post-haste.” 

“What?” Tony’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “We’re working with the government on this dig for their museum!” 

“Apparently Stane got an offer he couldn’t refuse. Starting first thing tomorrow morning, they’re pulling everything of value out of the tomb and crating it up so we can get it on a ship by the end of the week.” 

“But, that’s not right!” Tony had started pacing back and forth, gesturing forcefully. “We promised we would help these people regain their lost history. What we’ve found needs to stay here.”

Steve shrugged. “It’s not my place to say anything. I’m just the hired help.” 

“You’re more than that, Cap.” Steve hid his wince at the nickname; Tony didn’t need to know why Steve hated reminders of his time in the military. “We can’t let this happen. Come with me.” 

The sun was sinking low over the western crags and peaks as Steve followed Tony through the camp and into the supply tent. “Here, hold this.” Tony thrust a burlap bag at Steve before prying open a crate. He started tossing sticks of dynamite towards Steve, who carefully caught them before placing them in the sack. 

“What are you doing, Tony?” Steve wondered if his companion had lost his mind. “I thought you wanted to save the site, not blow it up!” 

“I can place the charges to trigger another rockfall without doing damage to what’s inside. If Obadiah’s in that much of a hurry, he won’t have the time to dig it out again and he’ll just take what we’ve already removed.” Dozens of ceremonial objects and tablets had been brought out of the burial chamber over the past few weeks to be catalogued for eventual display in the capital. Tony had discovered Steve’s drawing talents and pressed him into service as well, since their photographic supplies were limited. “Besides,” Tony added, “this is Plan C.” 

“What are Plans A and B?” 

“First, I’ll try talking some sense into my father. As for Plan B, I’ll explain later - too much to go into at the moment.” Tony hefted a roll of fuse up onto his shoulder and Steve was reminded once again of the wiry strength that his companion’s slight frame belied. “Let’s stash all this behind the mess tent for now.” 

Steve coaxed Tony into eating some dinner while they waited for Stane and the senior Stark to return to camp; they had gone into town to make final travel arrangements. Tony was unsettled, poking at his food -- which was none too palatable to start with -- and shifting restlessly in his seat as he explained why he was so upset. 

“I know it seems like tedious work, deciphering the plaques and whatnot, but we’re bringing back knowledge that was lost. Knowledge that these people might be able to use to make their lives better. At the very least, all these artifacts should stay here and us foreigners should have to pay to see them, instead of the other way around.” Steve couldn’t help but admire Tony’s eagerness and desire to make things right. He used to feel that way too, before the war. 

The minute they heard Stane’s jeep pull into camp, Tony shot out of his seat. “Wish me luck, Rogers.” 

Steve returned to his tent after he finished his meal and found himself shuffling through his sketches. At Tony’s behest, Steve had drawn maps of the dig site as well as drawings of the artifacts. Tony would practically hang over his shoulder as he put pencil to paper, and a small, guilty part of Steve reveled in that closeness. 

He supposed he ought to hand the sketches over to Stark, seeing as they’d been produced on company time. However, there were a few drawings that Steve was determined to keep for himself — sketches of Tony with his face scrunched up in concentration as he puzzled out one of the inscriptions or wearing a delighted expression as he explained how the latest find fit into the bigger picture. Steve had even caught Tony in a rare, quiet moment; his pensive, almost melancholy look quite a contrast to his usual animated self. 

Steve hastily tucked his sketches away at a rap on the tent pole. “Are you in there, Cap?” Tony’s voice had an odd catch in it.

“Yeah. C’mon in.” The tent flap twitched to one side and Tony stepped through. “How’d it go?” 

“They wouldn’t listen to me. Said I was too young to understand ‘the politics of the situation’.” Tony clenched his hands in a gesture of frustrated helplessness. “ ‘A Stark always keeps his word.’, that’s what my father always told me. Guess that only applies to other Americans and maybe Europeans.” 

Steve held his tongue; he’d seen plenty of examples of the behavior Tony was referring to, with Stane being only the latest to lord it over people he considered his inferiors. “So, what can we do?” 

“Move on to Plan B and C.” Tony replied grimly. 

The full moon had risen, throwing shadows across the camp as Tony and Steve made their way back to the mess tent. 

“Good evening, boys!” A familiar (and unwelcome) voice boomed; Obadiah Stane, a lit cigar in hand, sauntered towards them. “What’s keeping you two out so late? We’ve got an early morning coming, after all.” 

Steve nodded stiffly as he worked to come up with an excuse. Thankfully, Tony was more quick-witted.

“Captain Rogers and I got to talking about maps and navigation over dinner and he offered to show me some wayfinding tricks for this part of the world. Using the stars as your guide, things like that.” 

“I see,” Stane rumbled, looking the two of them up and down. “Should I call one of my men to escort you?” 

“No need,” Tony replied airily. “Captain Rogers is carrying his sidearm, as you can see.” He met Stane’s questioning gaze with his own steady expression; Steve made a note not to play poker with either of them. 

After a long moment, Stane spoke. “Very well. I still expect to see you both up and ready to go at the crack of dawn.” He made a sketchy salute with his cigar and walked back towards his tent. Heart still pounding, Steve followed Tony the rest of the way to their destination. 

“Typical Obadiah, sticking his nose into everything,” Tony groused as he lit a lantern, adjusting its shade so only a sliver of light spilled out. “What did he think we were going to run into, anyways? A tribe of marauding Bedouin?” 

“I believe he was thinking more along the lines of chaperone than bodyguard.” The words slipped out before Steve could stop them. 

“What?” Tony’s eyes widened and Steve could almost swear that his cheeks darkened. “Well, now, first of all, he has no right to interfere in that part of my life. Just because he thinks his soft-handed, spoiled brat of a nephew Tiberius and I would be a good match.” Tony snorted in derision. “I’d much rather be with someone--” He cut himself off abruptly, then shook his head. “Sorry. We’ve got more important things to focus on, right now, don’t we?” 

Picking up the roll of fuse, Tony squinted at the label, then pulled out a length. “This should be about a ten-minute fuse.” He sliced through the cord, then went to hand the penknife over to Steve. “Cut off a few more of these while I bundle the dynamite sticks together and splice the fuses.” 

Steve pulled out his own knife. “I know how to splice rope - fuses can’t be that different.” He took a section of fuse from Tony and reached into the bag of dynamite. Are you thinking two or three sticks per bundle?” 

“Better stick with two - we don’t want to take the whole cliffside down.” Tony grinned as he measured out more fuse line and joined in on the task. “A sailor as well as a soldier, Cap? You’re a man of many talents.” 

“When you grow up poor and Irish, you take any job you can get your hands on.” 

Tony flinched slightly at Steve’s words. “I know what people think of me,” he said in a quiet voice. “How I’ll grow up to be just like my father or Obadiah and expect to have the world handed to me on a silver platter.” He raised his head to look Steve in the eye, and with a mix of defiance and entreaty, added, “ But I’ve worked hard, haven’t I?” 

Steve tamped down the impulse to reach out and embrace his companion, offering comfort with his words, instead. “You sure have, Tony. You’ve got as much dirt under your nails as any of us. Plus you burn the midnight oil deciphering the inscriptions and cataloging all the artifacts. Hell, you could lead your own expedition at this point. And you know what? I’d be the first to sign up.” 

“Thanks.” Tony replied softly, his cheeks reddening slightly once again. “That means a lot.” He looked at the half-dozen bundles he and Steve had assembled. “This should be enough. We better get going.” 

He packed them into a knapsack and handed it to Steve before grabbing another sack and slinging it over his shoulder. 

“What’s in there?”

“You’ll see.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony’s Plan B to stop his father and Stane from absconding with the treasures from the tomb is more dangerous than either he or Steve realize; but something good comes out of it after all.

The full moon shed enough light for Tony and Steve to make their way up to the dig site. They stopped to place their charges, but instead of lighting them and scrambling madly back down to the camp, Tony started to climb even higher.

“What are you doing?” 

“I told you the dynamite was Plan C,” Tony called back over his shoulder. “Plan B involves getting up there.” He pointed to the plateau a dozen or so yards above them, a mere goat trail leading to the top.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Steve gritted out as he scrambled up the narrow path behind Tony. 

By the time Steve reached the top, Tony was already pulling something out of the sack he’d been carrying -- leftover wood scraps from the posts and beams they had used to shore up the entrance to the burial chamber. He stacked them carefully, then tucked twists of paper in between the blocks before turning to Steve. 

“Got a light?” 

Steve tossed over his Zippo. “Wait ... what are you doing? They’ll be able to see this fire from camp!”

“That’s the point - it’s a signal fire. But not for our cohorts.” Tony pulled an ancient box with an ornate sigil emblazoned on it out of the sack, opening it to reveal a scroll. “This tells of a secret society — their name roughly translates to Ever-Faithful Guardians — sworn to defend the kingdom. It’s existed for generations, carried down from father to son. To summon them, you have to build a fire on the highest peak, read an incantation and sacrifice something precious to you.” 

“Tony, surely you don’t believe in mumbo-jumbo like that.” Steve scoffed, even as a shiver crawled up his spine. Maybe this explained all the mishaps -- remnants of this secret society sabotaging the expedition.

“If it keeps all of this where it belongs, I’m willing to believe anything.” He lit the paper twists, watching expectantly as the fire sprang to life. 

“I take in the incantation is in that scroll there. But what about the ‘something precious’?” Steve knew Tony valued knowledge above just about anything else, including his own well-being. But preserving the knowledge these artifacts represented was the whole reason behind this crazy scheme. 

As if in answer, Tony tugged at a thin, golden chain around his neck to reveal an oval pendant. “This is from my mother.” He carefully opened the locket to show Steve a photo of a lovely dark-eyed woman. “She died when I was ten years old.” 

“I’m sorry.” Steve’s ma had died about a decade ago as well, and he missed her to this day; but he’d been practically a grown man. Tony had still been a child when his mother had passed. 

Tony murmured his thanks, then went on. “She’s the one who introduced me to all this, including setting me up with a tutor, Mr. Yinsen. He’s originally from a place not too far from here. Brilliant man; but no university in the States would accept his credentials.” Tony wrinkled his nose in disbelief and frustration. “Yinsen taught me about these languages and cultures, but it’s my mother who I truly have to thank for everything I’ve learned.” 

Tony pried up the photo to retrieve a lock of hair from behind it. “She’d understand why I have to do this.” He held the memento of his mother tightly in one hand as he unwrapped the scroll. Taking a deep breath, he added, “Here’s hoping my accent has improved since I got here.” 

The wind picked up as Tony recited the incantation in a language Steve couldn’t quite identify, although he caught a word here and there: ‘kingdom’, ‘protect’, ‘gift’. As he spoke the last words, Tony released the lock of hair and it flew into the flames; sparking briefly as it was consumed. A moment later, a brilliant blue flame shot into the sky, every bit of twenty-five feet high. 

Steve stumbled back, the ground shuddering as he threw his arm up across his face to protect himself from the light and heat. A bolt of fear shot through him at the thought that they had ignited a vein of coal or natural gas, turning the entire hilltop into a timebomb. 

“Tony!” Despite being half-blinded by the glare, Steve spotted his companion just a few yards away, staring at a crevasse that had suddenly opened up in the ground. He ran to Tony’s side and grabbed his shoulder. “We gotta get out of here, right now.” 

Tony turned to face Steve, his eyes reflecting the eerie blue light of the flame that still rocketed skyward. “They’re coming.” His voice was low and guttural, nothing like the way Tony usually spoke. And when Steve tried to grab his arm and drag him away bodily, Tony pushed him back with unexpected strength. 

From the crevasse, a shadowy shape emerged, taking the form of a man. No, not a man, but a corpse -- leathery skin stretched tight across bone and sinew. Its empty eye sockets glowed bright blue as it moved toward them. Rooted in place by shock, Steve watched in horror as Tony held out his arms in a gesture of welcome. The figure was soon joined by more of its dreadful kin, over twenty in total. 

The first creature spoke in a raspy hiss; and Tony answered in the same mysterious language, including the few words that Steve had recognized from the incantation. It then pointed to Steve menacingly, asking some sort of question. Tony grabbed Steve’s hand and replied in a commanding tone before pointing towards the camp. 

“Tony, wait!” Steve shouted as he tried to pull away from the vicelike hold. “Those are our friends down there!” As the creatures shambled single-file down the hillside, the uncanny blue glow faded from Tony’s eyes and he shook his head, shoulders slumping wearily as if he’d just run a race. 

“My god ... what have you done?” Steve couldn’t keep the horror and accusation from his voice, even as his friend turned to him with an equally shocked expression. 

“I don’t know!” He protested, “Steve, I swear I didn’t--” 

<“These foreigners, meddling once again in what they do not understand.” > At the sound of a disdainful voice speaking the local language, Steve whirled around, hand on the butt of his holster. 

A dozen men had seemingly come out of nowhere to stand on the plateau behind them. They were dressed all in black, their faces swathed in scarves so only their eyes showed. The one who had spoken wore a medallion that matched the sigil on the scroll case, while several of the others had rifles leveled at him and Tony. 

Steve moved his hand away from his gun as Tony bowed deeply and replied in the same tongue, <“I beseech your help, ever-faithful Guardians.”> 

The man who had spoken — presumably their leader — inclined his head slightly, and his men lowered their rifles. <“At least you have gone to some trouble to learn our language.”> With a disapproving expression, he continued, <”We had hoped inconveniencing you would be enough, but alas, it seems only catastrophe will suffice to make you leave.” >

_So those accidents had all been sabotage after all,_ Steve thought. <“If you’re the Guardians, who in God’s name are they?”> he blurted out, gesturing down the mountainside where the walking corpses were slowly making their way to the camp. 

The man frowned at the blasphemy before answering. <“They are the Ancient Ones - our original forebears, and more dangerous than you know. Especially when summoned under a full moon.”> He turned to Tony. <“Why have you called upon us?”>

<“My father and his partner plan to take all the artifacts we have found at this historical site back to New York and sell them to the highest bidder.”> 

The leader of the Guardians blinked in surprise. <“You would take our side against your own blood?”> 

<“They have broken their word. Your history and your treasures belong to you, not us.”> 

<“I see now how you were able to invoke the Ancient Ones,”> he replied thoughtfully. <”What exactly did you tell them?”> 

Tony paused, wrinkling his forehead as if he was having difficulty remembering. <“To drive the interlopers out, but not to harm anyone unless necessary.”> 

The leader of the Guardians gave Tony a dark look. <“The Ancient Ones’ definition of ‘necessary’ is likely to put your entire camp in grave danger.”>. He cast his eyes over Steve. <“I’m surprised they did not start with him.”>

<“I told them he belonged to me.”> he responded sharply, but before Steve could ask exactly what that meant, Tony added, <“So how do we stop them?”> 

<“They cannot be stopped, only redirected.”> the leader explained. <“You must summon the Ancient Ones again, with something even more precious than before. Then you will tell them they have done well and they can rest. They will return from whence they came.”> 

<“What do you mean by ‘more precious’?”>

The man shrugged. <“That’s not for me to say. In the meanwhile, we will attempt to limit the carnage.”> Turning back to his men, he pointed toward one of them. <“Soldier, you understand these foreigners’ native tongue. Watch over them and if they plot against us or try to flee, stop them.”> 

The man so addressed stepped forward. He bowed to his leader, then pulled a pistol from his sash and cocked it before sitting down on a nearby rock. Steve watched warily as the rest of the Guardians sure-footedly made their way down the path, intent on intercepting their infernal progenitors.

Tony squatted down to stoke the fire with the remnants of the wood scraps. “Cap, c’mere.” Steve hunkered down beside him. <“Is it just me,”> Tony murmured in French, <“or is our nanny missing part of his left arm?”> 

Steve snuck a look; between the fading moonlight and the all-black outfit, it was difficult to tell, but it did seem as if the man’s arm ended somewhere around his elbow. <“I think you’re right,”> he replied, also in French, <“but I’m not sure it matters. He’s got that pistol ready for action.”> Steve turned to face Tony. <“You aren’t thinking of hightailing it out of here, are you?”>

<“Of course not. I just don’t know if this,”> he fingered his locket thoughtfully , <“is enough for the ‘something more precious’.”> 

Steve had an idea, but before he could reply, their guard called out, <“I understand French as well.”> Both his voice and accent were rough, but somehow familiar. 

Tony hid his surprise well, rising to his feet with a casual air. “I get the feeling you’re not originally from around here, are you?” He spoke in English, as if to test him. 

“No, I’m not.” It seemed he understood Tony just fine; but with his terse answer, he was clearly unwilling to volunteer any more information. 

Before his friend could antagonize their guard with more questions, Steve spoke up. “Tony, is there anything in that scroll that says whether only one person can make the sacrifice?” 

Tony tilted his head in thought, “No, I don’t believe so.” 

“Then teach me the incantation — I’m good with languages, you know that. And maybe if we both offer something up, it will be enough.” 

“You’d do that?” Tony’s look of surprised gratitude made Steve’s heart skip a beat. 

“Well, you did say I belonged to you,” Steve teased, trying to lighten the mood, “so I figure what’s mine is yours.” 

“He called you his beloved,” their guard said, speaking in English. “I was the first to arrive and caught the end of his exchange with the Ancient One.” His still oddly-familiar voice held no trace of a foreign accent; but Steve could scarcely process that in light of the revelation of what Tony had said. 

“Is that true, Tony?” 

“I... it was ... well... just wishful thinking, I guess,” Tony stammered, unable to meet Steve’s eyes. 

“It doesn’t have to be.” Steve took Tony’s hand in his, and heedless of their audience or the disaster unfolding around them, drew him in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to put another cliffhanger in — but at least this is a good one!  
The final chapter will post next Friday — stay tuned!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their love confessions, Steve and Tony invoke the Ancient Ones together. Steve’s gift of the heart is the key to a greater gift, and after dealing with the aftermath of Plan B, an Epilogue provides a happy ever after.

The touch of Tony’s lips on his was even sweeter than Steve had imagined. He gently cradled Tony’s head in one hand, fingers tangling in those curls just like he’d been aching to do for weeks. Tony in turn melted into the embrace, arms wrapped around Steve as if he were never letting go again. Steve wanted nothing more than to lose himself in the moment, but distant shouts and gunfire brought the real world back into sharp focus. 

“We’d better get this summoning thing over and done with,” Steve said as he reluctantly let go of Tony, who slowly opened his eyes, a look of bliss fading gradually from his face. 

“I guess you’re right, sunshine,” he sighed. “Hope you’re a quick learner.” Tony unrolled the scroll and spoke the incantation a word at a time with Steve repeating each one. Tony then combined the words into partial phrases, and they ran through it twice more. “Okay - let’s give it the old college try. What are you offering up?”

Steve swallowed hard and pulled the set of dog tags from around his neck, their slight weight no match for the burden of memories they represented. “I’ll explain more later, but I’m pretty sure this qualifies.” 

Tony’s face was full of questions, but he simply nodded. “Don’t forget the message we need to deliver: ‘You have done well. Now you may rest’.” 

“And how do I say that?” Steve wasn’t sure he could remember any more unfamiliar words. 

“It will come to you. So -- things are about to get a little weird.” 

The two of them stood in front of the fire, holding hands as they spoke in unison: 

> < “I call on you, o ever-faithful guardians  
You who have sworn to protect the kingdom  
I call on you in our hour of need  
I offer you a gift of my heart in exchange for your help” >  


Finishing the incantation, they threw their sacrifices into the fire - a glint of gold and silver in the darkness. A moment later, a column of blue flame erupted as before, and Steve felt as if he’d stuck his finger in an empty light socket. 

The electric sensation ran through his entire body, the pain fading as it diffused into each and every bone and pore. He lost all sense of time, only the touch of Tony’s hand keeping him grounded. It seemed but a moment before the Ancient Ones stood before him again; no longer terrible monsters, but selfless warriors. 

<”You have done well. Now you may rest.”> Tony intoned and Steve echoed the sentiment. These dedicated souls had succeeded once again in protecting the kingdom from those who would steal from it. Steve found himself wishing he could reward the Ancient Ones further; but they were beyond desiring food, drink or other earthly pleasures. They lived only to serve, then returned to the afterlife, a job well done. 

He and Tony repeated the two phrases several more times until each warrior had slipped back into the crevasse that led down into the tomb below. As the column of blue flame disappeared, so did the power of the incantation, leaving both Steve and Tony unsteady on their feet. He marveled at how his perception of the Ancient Ones had been changed while under the spell; now that he was back to himself, Steve wanted nothing to do with them ever again. 

“We did it.” In the waning light of the fire, Tony wore a weary, yet relieved expression. 

“Yeah, sweetheart. We did.” Steve pulled Tony into another embrace for a celebratory kiss. 

“Would you tell me about the dog tags now?” Tony asked with considerable restraint; Steve knew just how curious he could be. 

“One was mine, and one was from my best friend, my brother in every way except for blood,” Steve replied wistfully. “His name was James Barnes, but he went by Bucky. We’d known each other since we were kids. Grew up in the same neighborhood in Brooklyn and we were thick as thieves. When the war broke out, he enlisted and I followed. We weren’t in the same company to start with, but we both ended up under the command of Colonel Phillips.” 

“So that’s why you know this part of the world so well,” Tony broke in, clearly recognizing the name of the leader of the American desert troops. “What happened?” 

“Bucky was our best sniper, and a hell of a scout. He went out on a solo mission up in those mountains.” Steve swallowed thickly as he pointed to the west. “He didn’t make it back. I took a bullet in the leg during a skirmish the next day and got evac’d. By the time I got better, I discovered he was listed as M.I.A. They never found his body.”

“Oh, Steve. I’m so, so sorry.” Tony held him tight, and despite the wave of melancholy that had washed over him on telling his tale, it warmed Steve’s heart to hear his name -- not just his surname or a nickname -- spring once again from Tony’s lips. 

“Steve?” He’d had almost forgotten they weren’t alone. It wasn’t until he heard his own name spoken with a mix of surprise and cautious joy that he finally recognized the guard’s voice. 

Steve turned around to look into blue-grey eyes he knew nearly as well as his own. “Bucky?” 

“Yeah, pal, more or less.” He had pushed back the scarves and pulled out his own set of dogtags, as if Steve had needed proof. He was an older, rougher version of the man Steve had grown up with, but Steve himself was a far cry from the young, fresh-faced boy who’d gone to war. Neither of them would pass Army muster now, not with their beards and long, shaggy hair.

“I got a little scrambled up here.” Bucky pushed the hair back from his face, showing where a shiny white scar ran across his temple into his hairline. “Didn’t know who I was or where I came from for quite awhile. The goatherder who found me took care of me best he could, but I still lost this.” He moved his left arm, giving Steve his first good look at what was missing. 

“By the time I was well enough to get myself to the nearest town, I figured you’d all been told I was dead.” A haunted look crossed Bucky’s face. “Almost wished I was, more than once.” Steve nodded; he’d had those feelings as well. “Decided it was better for me to find a new life here; once I figured out what I could and couldn’t do anymore.” 

“Bucky, if I’d had the slightest inkling you were still alive...” Steve breathed.

“I know. But seein’ as you took most of the stupid with ya...” The small grin that crossed his face spurred Steve into motion; he pulled Bucky into a rough hug, clapping him on the back as if to reassure himself that this was no mirage, that his dearest friend, a man he’d thought lost to him forever was alive and right in front of him. 

<”Yet another reason for celebration, I see. ”> The leader of the Guardians had once more appeared out of nowhere; but this time he was alone. <”You called the Ancient Ones back before they could wreak too much havoc. My men are working to secure the site and make sure no further damage is done. Captain Rogers, I suggest you return to your camp as soon as possible.”> 

<”So you knew who Steve was all this time?”> Tony asked. He’d let Steve have his moment with Bucky, but he was clearly bursting with questions once again. 

The man simply nodded. Steve wasn’t surprised; he’d probably had spies in their camp from the beginning. <”I do regret to inform you,”> he continued, <”that a ceremonial dagger somehow found its way into the chest of your Mister Stane. Thankfully, the artifact suffered no damage.” > 

<”What about my father?”> Tony asked, his jaw clenched tight. 

<”He was physically unharmed, but seems to have suffered a mental breakdown. I suggest you take him to the capital, where he can get proper care.” >

<”As soon as possible, I presume?”> Tony answered, 

<”That would be wise.”> 

As they made their way back down the hillside, Tony asked, “So, what happens now?” 

“Sounds like the decision is up to you, sweetheart. With Stane gone and your father not in his right mind at the moment, that puts you in charge.” And whoever didn’t agree would have Captain Rogers to deal with. “Let’s see what’s left of camp and go from there.” 

“I meant, between us.” 

“That’s up to you, too.” Steve shrugged. “I’m not much of a catch, honestly. Nowhere to call home, no money to speak of. Like I said before, I’m just a hired gun. You could do a lot better than me.” 

Tony snorted. “And like I said before, you’re so much more than that. You’re smart, brave, and talented. You just need the right opportunity. I’d like to give that to you, if you’d let me.” 

“He ain’t wrong, Stevie.” Bucky chipped in. “You and him make a good pair, and not just in the romantic way. You work together well -- anyone can see that.” 

“And what about you, Buck? You gonna stick around here awhile longer?” Steve bit his tongue before he could add ‘or come with us.’ He had only an inkling of the hard road his friend had walked alone the past several years; maybe Bucky had already found his place in the world. 

“Depends on what kinda trouble you and your fella are plannin’ on getting up to. I may be down a hand, but I can still shoot straight and long.” 

Steve glanced over to Tony, who grinned. “I’d be happy to make room on the payroll for a distinguished veteran. Especially if you can help keep this big lug in line,” he added, nudging Steve playfully.

EPILOGUE

The three of them stood across the street from the museum to get a good view of the banner about to be unfurled. Designed by Steve, it advertised the newest exhibit. After several long months, with mountains of nearly-incomprehensible paperwork, drawn-out meetings, and the occasional envelope of cash slid discreetly across a desk, they’d done it. He and Tony -- with help from Bucky -- had fulfilled their promise to share the priceless artifacts they’d discovered with the people to whom they belonged, as well as the rest of the world. 

“I still say the title’s too long,” Bucky muttered.

“Hush, you,” Tony shot back, but there was no heat in his reply. 

Steve couldn’t have been happier to see Tony and Bucky striking up a friendship, albeit one with good-natured barbs shot back and forth. Tony had even offered to design a prosthetic for Bucky: “You know, instead of a hook. Unless you were planning on running off and becoming a pirate, now that your days as a desert marauder are over.” 

The banner unfurled to display the title Tony had chosen and Steve had lettered: “Neither Fortune Nor Glory - The Legacy of the Ever-Faithful Guardians”. A selection of artifacts — along with Steve’s drawings and additional material — provided a picture of times gone past, as well as told the story of how this tomb had stayed secure over the centuries.

Not only had they gotten the current Guardians’ approval, but Tony had summoned the Ancient Ones a final time, to explain that by placing these sacred items into the care of the current ruler, they could be shared with the entire kingdom and protected by an entire army. It had been eerie to once again see the dreadful beings take form and not know exactly what was being said, but Tony had insisted he could do it by himself; his ‘gift of the heart’ being the keys to his nearly brand-new sports car. 

Tony checked his watch. “He should be here any minute.” 

“Who? Your father?” Steve hadn’t expected the elder Stark to ever set foot in this country again. After he’d recovered from his breakdown, he insisted on returning to the States in order to “figure out what kind of a mess Stane had left everything in.” He’d clearly been shaken by the experience, and wanted nothing more to do with their current enterprise; giving his son free rein to do what he thought best. 

“No - someone better.” And as if summoned, a sleek, luxury convertible came down the dusty street and stopped in front of the museum. It was Tony’s car and his driver —a man by the name of Hogan — but the passenger was a stranger to Steve. 

“Master Yinsen!” Tony cried out, rushing across the street to open the door for the elderly man. “I’m so glad you could come!” 

“Anthony, it’s good to see you. And it is good to see my homeland again.” Yinsen shook hands warmly with Tony as Steve and Bucky came over to join them. “And are these your associates you told me about?” 

“Master Yinsen, this is Captain Steve Rogers and Sergeant James Barnes. None of this could have happened without their help. Wait till you see Steve’s sketches -- they’re amazing!” 

Steve stood back for a moment, watching his beloved stroll into the museum with his mentor, happily chattering about the exhibit. 

“You picked a good one, Stevie.” Bucky clapped him on the back. “And he’s downright crazy for you. Wouldn’t stop talkin’ about ya the whole time he was measuring me for that fancy new arm he’s gonna make.” 

“I’m pretty gone over him, too, Buck.” 

“I can tell. Thinking about making things a bit more permanent?” Bucky nudged Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve fought down a blush as he fingered the small box in his pocket. “Yeah, I kinda am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for joining me on this adventure! Feel free to come say hi over on  Tumblr and see what other creative projects (writing or crafting) I’m up to!


End file.
